


About Face

by DeathjunkE



Series: Baby Boy [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Casual Sex, Community: bigbang_mixup, Elizabeth is dead, F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathjunkE/pseuds/DeathjunkE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>El dies in childbirth. Peter is a grieving widower, with a kid and a not a single clue about how to take care of it. Neal, though he doesn't have a clue on what to do with a baby either moves in to help Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Six Days Old

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was created for the BigBang_Mixup. Specifically, it was written to the sounds of neurotictealeaf's fan Mix, Turn South From Here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six days after El's death all Peter can do to stay sane is take care of his son.

**Six Days Old ******

”Peter.” Neal poked his head into the house and called. He eased the door open when there was no answer. “Peter are you here?”

Neal came to an abrupt alt in the foyer. He had never seen the house like this before. There was stacks of paper, a stack of blankets on the sofa, clothes strewn everywhere, half filled cups and filled plates with food in various stages of decay. Elizabeth had been the main caretaker of the Burke home but Peter was a man who abhorred mess and disorder. He was just as neat as his wife had been and wasn’t the type to let things get like this.

Neal stepped gingerly around the mess and opened the kitchen, which was also in a poor state. Pots and dishes, all still containing fool moldered on the counters and in the sink. The garbage can was overflowing and starting to smell. The only clean things were the racks of clean baby bottles on the table, a kettle that stood besides them and a stack of laundered spit up cloths. There were jars and jars of formula, from pour and heat to the powdered mix with water types. There was soy based and milk based, and lactose free. 

With a gentle sigh Ne looked over to where Satchmo’s bowls usually were and pressed his lips together when he saw that they were no where to be found. 

Neal turned and went back the way he had come. Once he was at the stairs he looked up at the second floor landing and feared for what he would find. Greif did strange things to people, Neal knew first hand. Greif had made him angry and self-destructive and had made his mother give up on everything, including the son she had once adored. 

Neal’s stomach clenched as he thought about poor little Elliot. Elizabeth had died after giving birth to him. Elliot had started life with only one parent and if the state of the house was any indication, Peter had probably lot the ability to function. Neal pressed a hand against his churning stomach. He wouldn’t know what to do if it turned out that Peter wasn’t able to take care of Elliot, he had waved all his parental rights and if Elliot was taken… 

Neal pushed aside those thoughts. Elle had died just six days ago, and this… this was pretty bad but he couldn’t just jump to conclusions. Neal climbed the stairs slowly, his eyes roaming over the second floor with a focus that he usually reserved for casing museums and galleries before large heists. This floor wasn’t so bad. That carpet hadn’t been vacuumed recently, with the bathroom door open Neal could see that it was fairly clean if not pristine like Elizabeth kept it. The Master bedroom door was closed and judging from the pattern in the carpet the door hadn’t been opened in days. The door of the other room, the nursery, was open a few inches.

Neal moved on cat feet and leaned against the wall and peered into the room. His heart ached desperately, as he watched. Peter was sitting in the over plush gliding chair in a stained T-shirt and boxers, little Elliot swaddled in the lovely yellow and gray blanket that El had knit a bottle held to his lips. The nursery was spotless. Not a single thing out of place or dust to be seen.

Neal closed his eyes and tipped his head back to let it rest on the wall behind him. He should have known better. Peter was the most responsible person Neal had ever met. Even if Peter let everything else go to the wayside there was no way that Elliot would be forgotten. This was the Son Peter and El had looked forward to for so long, it only makes sense that he would remain cherished. Even if Peter didn’t love the baby as much as he did he would never disrespect El’s sacrifice and memory by neglecting the child she had giver her very life for. 

Neal left father and son to their own devices and lipped down stairs to clean up. He’d never been around children but he knew that the first few months were trying, busy and tiring. Peter was dealing with the loss of Elizabeth, a new baby and a host of other things, the least he could do was lend a helping hand by cleaning.

(-)

All in all it took nearly an hour and a half for Neal to sort out the mess down stairs, and find Satchmo and his bowls in the yard. When he was done neal climbed the steps once more and approached the nursery again. This time he pushed the door open and let his presence be known.

“Hey, Peter.” 

Peter turned abruptly, his eyes looking through more than at Neal. He stood up and settled the now sleeping baby into his cradle. “Neal, what are you doing here?”

“The funeral is tomorrow… I just…” Neal had always been good with words, Ellen used to tease him saying that it was made of cold silver, but now… he couldn’t even string together a decent sentence. “I know you’re not alright.” 

“Oh…” Peter looked haggard. His skin was pale and sallow. His eyes were ringed in inflamed red and the blood vessels were showing in the whites of his eyes. Shaving had become a thing of the past and Peter’s stubble was bordering on the beginnings of a beard which made his dry split lips all the more nticeable. This clothes hung off of him in a way that was just wrong. To see how much weight that Peter had lost in a week was painful. 

“Peter… you need help.”

“No. no I’ve got it. Elliot, Elliot’s doing okay. He doesn’t cry that much. I remember my mother used to tell me that babies cried all the time when they’re just born. Elliot… He doesn’t cry so much.” Peter reached into the crib and traced the curve of the child’s face with a large and gentle finger, “Have you two met yet? He looks so much like you and El.”

Neal came closer and peered into the crib. Elliot looked nothing like he did when he was first born; pink, wrinkly, and wet. Neal wanted to touch him, but couldn’t push past the awe and feeling that he would somehow manage to break the little thing he was looking. 

“All that hair. You should see him with the hat off. He’s got so much hair and it’s so dark. His eyes open and… They’re your blue and El’s shape. His mouth and his nose are El too. His fingers… They look just like yours; long, he’ll have wide knuckles too.” Peter rambled, not really paying much attention to what he was saying. Some words were slurred and the strain of talking was making his voice crack.

“Peter. I think you need some sleep.” 

“I’m not tired.”

“Just a little sleep. You don’t look well Peter. Please,” Neal cajoled, “Isn’t it better to sleep while some one is here to listen out for Elliot? You’re tired and I know you sleep deep. I don’t want you to have to wake up ever ten minutes to make sure he’s not crying. I’ll come get you if he makes a peep.”

“I don’t want to sleep Neal. That sofa is shit and it hurts my back.”

That’s when everything fell into place. The blankets, the odd pattern inform of the master suite; Peter couldn’t bear to go into the room he had shared with Elizabeth. Her presence must permeate the room, her scent, her jewelry, her clothes, and her side of the bed. All reminders that Elizabeth was gone and would never come back. 

“You need a rest, why don’t you watch a bit of TV then.” Neal urged gently prodding and herding peter to the nursery door. If he could get him downstairs and on the sofa maybe Peter would sleep for a while, giving Neal enough time to get into the master bedroom to get what Peter would need to get ready for the funeral before making something that Peter would actually eat.

(-)

Neal held his breath as he opened the door of the master bedroom. It looked like it always did. The bright corn flower blue walls, yellow and green duvet with pictures knick-knacks and loose papers tucked into corners. It smelled like Elizabeth’s and Peter’s natural scent as well as a hint of El’s favorite Izzy Miyaki perfume. Neal slipped off his shoes and left the door open so that he would be able to hear if Elliot made even the slightest sound. He crossed the thick carpet to the other side of the room to the master bath, where he rifled through the draws and medicine cabinets of the in suite to find Peter’s toiletries, the man was desperately in need of a shave.

From there Neal tackled the closet. Peter had many suits, his job required them. Most of them were off the rack affairs, but there were two or three bespoke suits that El had brought for him over the years. Neal fingered the black suit that Elizabeth had brought Peter for his birthday just a few months prior and pulled it out of the closet, laying it onto the bed delicately. Next he went through the shirts to find the oxblood red one Elizabeth had loved so much and then turned the tie rack until he found Peter’s wide black tie. Next came socks, shoes, cuff links and tie clip, which Neal polish to a shine before he carried the lot down stairs.

Neal slipped the hangers onto the coat hooks in the foyer, tucked the socks, clips and links into the left shoe and rolled the tie and put it into the right before placing the shoes under the hanging clothing. Neal would have Peter looking his best tomorrow when he saw El for the last time.

Neal slipped back up the steps and returned to the second floor. He pulled the door to peter’s bedroom closed as he passed on his way to the nursery. Neal walked over to the crib and leaned over to look into it. He had expected the baby to still be asleep, but was surprised to find himself greeted by two bright blue eyes looking up at him. 

In that moment Neal could see what Peter had been talking about. The baby looked remarkably like Elizabeth, but Neal also managed to catch bits of himself in the child’s jaw line, the thick curl of his hair and those eyes that mirrored his own.

“Hi there.” He mumbled to the little thing looking up at him, “Your daddy’s taking a nap so it will be just you and me for a little while. I’m Neal… I’m a friend of your parents.” The baby huffed and Neal smiled touching the tiny hand that made it’s way from peter’s clumsy swaddle to the open air. “You’re going to be happy. I know things are rough now, but you really will be happy. Elizabeth loved you before she even saw you and Peter. Peter is a good man, the best father anyone could ask for. He’s a little sad right now but it wont last. He’ll get better and you’ll see; it will be all sports, and justice, and deviled ham sandwiches.”

**Seven Days Old ******

Neal stood in front of Peter and fastened the tie clip for him.

“Are there going to be marshals at my door when we leave?” Peter asked as the thought had just dawned on him. Neal could slip his anklet if he really wanted to. The whole ‘inescapable’ thing was pure bullshit and they both knew it.

“No Peter. Diana’s been my handler since you took leave. She set my radius to your house for this weekend.”

“Neal, I didn’t mean to —“

“You’re my friend Peter. Why wouldn’t I help you when you needed it?” Neal rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder and smiled softly, “Trust me it’s no trouble. In fact it’s a privilege, I get to make sure you don’t wear one of your Sal’s dress barn suits for a day.” 

There was a sudden bleat from the bassinet besides the sofa, and both men turned their attentions to the fussy Elliot. Neal stepped away from Peter, who went to the bassinet and lifted the baby out wish a soft hum. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll get you cleaned up now, little man.” Peter turned and glanced back at Neal, “can you start the car? I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Yeah Peter.”

(-)

Red had been a good choice after all.

Peter had picked El’s favorite red cocktail dress up from the cleaners the day the funeral parlor asked if there was any particular outfit that to bury her in. She was beautiful, but nowhere near as gorgeous as she had been when she was full of life and laughter. Her make up had been done just the way it always had been and her hair lay around her perfectly styled as if she was going to pop up and go out to one of the parties she’d just planned. 

Neal felt out of place sitting in the first pew of the church with the Peter and El’s family. Parents, siblings and their children all sat solemnly in a row. Peter looked like he would just collapse; he was so wan and pale. He looked nothing like the man Neal had come to know.


	2. 2 Weeks Old

**2 Weeks Old ******

“How did you and El meet anyway?”

“I met Elizabeth when while I was working undercover on a case. The Dearmitt gallery had been robbed, and well they wanted to put personnel at each of the other possible targets. I ended up at the Gallery El was at.

I saw he and I couldn’t function. Completely hopeless, I couldn’t string together two words, hold something with out dropping it or manage not to look like an idiot. She never even batted an eye, just pretended that none of those embarrassing things happened.

But then the thieves came and it was a hostage situation. They had tied El and I up in the back room and were coming back to kill something or us. So I’m in a panic and El winks at me, slips out of the handcuffs they ha put her in. She couldn’t get me lose and when the guy came back she hit him in the head with a chair took his gun and cell and called the police. I never heard the end of it when they saw my badge.

Right then I had fallen in love with her, I didn’t know that though. I just thought that she was intriguing and that we should be watching her. And so I put her on surveillance, and on the third day of my waiting in a hot car watching her get lunch she changed her routine. She went to the drug store brought some poster board and made a sign that said I heart Italian. I was so shocked I couldn’t even talk when she came over to the car. She just laughed at me and said; ‘I guess you’re not going to ask me for my number, so I guess I’ll just have to take yours.’” Peter smiled at the memory and shook his head slowly, “I was always shy, hesitant— but El… She beat me to the punch every time and so I had to learn to cowboy up, and say what I had to.”


	3. Two Months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot meets June and Peter returns to work for the first time.

**Two Months Old ******

“June, are you sure this is okay? I mean—”

“Oh Peter, it’s fine. Really. My daughters are grown, my granddaughters are rarely here no that they’re in school. It will be delightful to have a baby in the house for a while, it’s been so long.” June swept Elliot up into her arms and cooed at the baby. She adjusted the child’s swaddling blankets and smiled down at the child, clearly delighted. Her soft wrinkled finger brushed against one of his chubby cheeks. “What a handsome thing! Look at that face.”

Clearly the child knew that he was the topic of conversation and decided to open his eyes. Even bleary with sleep they were alert. Elliot looked around, staring at peter for a moment before looking up to see who was holding him.

“Hello there, Elliot. I’m June. It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard such lovely things.” Elliot burbled some response at June and she answered as if they were actually having a full on conversation.

Peter chuckled and looked up at the stairs when he heard the door of Neal’s apartment close.

“Oh Peter, you’re early. Do we have time for breakfast?” Neal adjusted his tie and slid his arms into his suit jacket.

“Yeah, I came early for to see June.” When Peter turned she was no where to be found, “who has absconded with my baby.”

“Oh nothing so dramatic! Come have breakfast!” June’ voice came from the balcony. “Though I do say if this boy smiles at me with those dimples it may just happen after all! Peter He’s lovely. I’ll hate to give him back to you at the end of the day.”

Neal leaned down to kiss June’s cheek in greeting before crouching down to greet Elliot the same way before going to the side board to get plates of fruit and pastries for Peter and himself. “I think June’s got a new favorite, Peter. Watch it or next thing you know that kid will have my apartment.”

June laughed as she unwrapped Elliot from his blankets to sit the baby on her thigh, “You’re so bad Neal!”

“But you don’t deny it!”

June swiped a hand at Neal who danced out of the way with a grin, “You hush and eat your breakfast!”

(-)

Peter’s neck itched and his shoulders felt tight as he entered the bullpen. He was being watched and he knew it. Here he was in the office for the first time in two months. He’d only be doing half days for the next two months and had to jump through the psyc-evals before He was allowed to work cases more involving than insurance fraud, but still here he was in the Manhattan branch of the FBI.

Peter climbed the stairs to his office and propped the door open. It wouldn’t do to keep his door closed; he needed to be seen as open and receptive. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to think that he wasn’t ready to start working again. Peter circled around to his desk slipped of his coat and settled himself into his desk. It was mostly the same. There was a little more dust than usual and any urgent files he had had been removed and reassigned but nothing had changed.

His coffee mug was there right besides his picture of Elizabeth.

Peter swallowed thickly and took a deep breath. Pictures were something he just had to get used to. There were pictures of El and himself all over the house. Peter had always loved looking at his wife, seeing her every time he turned his head had been a reminder; _‘look how lucky you are’_ they all had seemed to say. Now it was a more painful reminder; look what you lost.

Peter braced himself and booted up his computer. He knew when he turned on the monitor he would see their second wedding photo. Not the first one, but the rooftop wedding that he and Neal had planned. Elizabeth was dressed in the same outfit she wore for her consultation that morning and her ballet flats holding his arm as they looked out on to the city. The picture had been a candid shot, taken from Mozzie’s cell phone, and it was beautiful.

El had been so very happy that day.

Peter swallowed thickly and stood up. He needed to go to the board room and sit through a few breifing on the on going cases. That was just what he needed, some tedious attention absorbing work to get him back in the game.

When Peter emerged from his office Cartwright started to make her way over to him wearing the same expression twelve other people approached him with in the last 20 minutes. Peter grit his teeth and stilled, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

It wasn't like they were tormenting him on purpose, Peter knew. It just was something that had happened. Agent Gillian from human trafficking had paid for his coffe and bagel at the street cart, while offering his condolences and his daughter as a baby sitter. In the elevator Mrs Crosby the head of HR had asked how he was doing and offered her condolences. Ot seemed like Peter could go ten minutes with out someone telling him that they were sorry for El's death and asking if he was okay when he so clearly was not.

Before Cartwright got to him Neal popped up at his side and led him away with a hand on his elbow. Speaking softly enough that Peter had to lean in to hear him.

"Hey, you're shaking. Let's go somewhere quiet for a moment yeah?" Neal muttered and led Peter away from the Bull pen and office area to the hallway where the bathrooms were. Neal pushed open the door of the handicap bathroom, which unlike the other bathrooms was an entire room in it's self. 

Peter was barely there, barely coherent as Neal towed him over to the sinks. His vision was graying around the edges and his senses were buzzing. The only things he could register were Neal's hands and the soothing candice of his voice.

"It's overwhelming, I know. Just take a minute and breathe. You look like you're about to pass out." Neal's steady stream of words along with a damp handkerchief soothing his face and neck pushed the haziness and panic away.


	4. Three Months Old

**Three Months Old ******

Peter had never been one to so the shopping. Back when he was in college he had stayed at home where his mother and father provided all of the food. Out at Quantico, where he did his training there was a cafeteria that served passable food and so many restaurants that he never had to wonder what he was going to eat. As a bachelor he lived in a room share where so long as he put money in to the jar on the counter Evan (a culinary arts student) would go shopping and make these stupidly elaborate (and delicious) dinners. It was Evan who taught Peter the fine art of the pot roast. When he had moved in with Elizabeth she had done the shopping. Yes there had been the occasional “Sweetie, will you go to Trader Joes and get a gallon of milk, we’re all out” but never much more than that.

Now he stood here in the supermarket with a shopping cart, baby strapped to his chest in a carrier, baffled. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t know how to do this. He wanted to go home, he wanted Elizabeth.

“What should we get first, hm?” Neal enquired looking all around. “What about dried goods first. We’ll get the stuff the needs to be cold last. How does that sound?”

“Yeah… yeah alright.” Peter followed Neal on auto pilot, not paying much attention to anything but maneuvering the cart around displays and other shoppers.

“Pasta?”

“Yeah, I eat pasta. Um… the blue and gold boxes are the ones we cook with.” 

“Okay Peter,” Neal pretended not to notice the lapse but Peter cringed. There was no ‘we’ and more —not for cooking. It was only I.

“What kind of sauce?” Neal asked, as the stepped over to where the jars of sauces were liked up and stacked.

“Green label plastic bottle. I think I had mushrooms in it.” 

“Found it. This one right?”

Peter nodded and felt his twisting gut calm. This wasn’t so horrible. With Neal to guide him through it he would be fine. The system worked. Neal would offer a kind of food and Peter would tall him which kind used to be in the cabinets. The supermarket became less scary, less oppressive, less insurmountable. 

They were in the ethic foods isle poking at bags of lentils and cartons on cous-cous when a cheerful lady with a shopping cart of her own smiled at them and cooed at little Elliot. Sleeping like a log in his carrier, head propped against Peter’s chest and loose limbs dangling. 

“You’ve got a lovely family.” She said a soft look on her ace as she eyed the sleeping baby, “ My wife and I, we’re thinking of perm donation. It’s a lot less stressful than the whole adoption process; I’ve got a case worker who swears that Cora and I are trying to recruit children. Like there’s a homo-boot-camp. Idiot woman. I think it will be fun to be pregnant. If you don’t mind me asking —and if you do just tell me to shove off, I’m horribly nosey— Did you adopt or was there a surrogate?”

Neal chuckled pleasantly when Peter couldn’t open his mouth to say a word to the poor woman who looked increasingly uncomfortable. “Well, Peter and I aren’t actually an item. I’m just helping him get the shopping done. This little guy’s,” Neal fingered Elliot’s hand gently, “all Peter’s and his wife.”

“Oh! Oh gosh. Oh I’m sorry!” The woman said wiping a hand over her flushed face. “Shows me not to make assumptions! Well regardless. The baby is lovely, congratulations sir.”

Neal smiles pleasantly at her and Peter pushes the cart into the next istle. They needed tuna.

(-)

It had been a long day. There had been a case that involved forging a large amount of intricately made, jewelry. Neal was completely drained. His back, shoulders and hands were cramping from leaning over the table for hours and gripping the tools so tightly, his eyes burned after focusing on something so small for so long and he was mentally exhausted as well. People never seemed to realize that a lot of thought, stress and mental work went into forgery. It wasn’t just skill or luck.

Neal clenched and released his hands, hoping to work out the horrid cramps. He plunked down on his bed and let himself flop over. It was completely undignified but really, who was going to see? June was in herown room fast asleep, Mozzie was spending the week at Thursday and Sarah was in London.

Neal turned his face into his over stuffed pillow and let out a deep sigh of contentment. Tomorrow was Sunday, there was nothing on the agenda for that day, and meaning Neal could sleep in. 

Just then a chime blared through the stillness’s of the room and Neal groaned. 

“Please, if there is any mercy in the universe— don’t be peter saying the rendezvous is tomorrow morning.” 

Neal reached over to the nightstand and squinted at his phone.

 

1 New Message from **Ugly Tie**

 

Neal looked out of the corner of his eye at his table. There was his clothes from the day, jeans and a sweater. Not what he usually would wear when working but hell Peter’s sending messages at 3am after he demanded 50 identical Georgian-Victorian rings forged he better be glad if Neal showed up at all.

Neal tapped the screen and was surprised to see a picture of Elliot. The baby was sitting on Peter’s knee in a hooded panda romper onsie holding the edge of his plum blanket. Elliot’s bright blue eyes crinkled at the edges, chubby cheeks dimpled, and his mouth was pulled up at the corners and open flashing his little pink gums. 

_Huh. look at that._ Neal felt his own mouth pull into as smile as he scrolled down.

3 Seconds ago:  
Elliot smiled. A real one with giggles, not just gas! ☺

1 New Message from **Ugly Tie**

1 Seconds Ago:  
He’s a sadistic little thing. Giggled when I stubbed my toe and wont do it again no matter what else I do.

Neal scrolled up to look at the picture once more before putting his phone back on the nightstand and smiling at the ceiling.


	5. 4 Months Old

**Elliot at 4 months**

Neal closed his apartment stood behind him, not bothering to flick the locks. Being a thief himself, he was well aware that if someone wanted to get in they would, besides Mozzie and June liked to drop in on him every now and again. Neal placed his bag As he pulled off his peacoat and Neal stopped, listening for a moment.

“ _There is no king nor sovereign state._  
That can fix a hero's rate;  
Each to all is venerable,  
Cap-a-pie invulnerable,  
Until he write, where all eyes rest,  
Slave or master on his breast.”

Mozzie’s voice carried through the apartment as he recited the poem. Neal sighed and smiled to himself, glad that he’d thought to pick up another bottle of the rosé that Mozzie favored. Neal stripped off the layers of his clothing changing into a sweater and plain black slacks. Byron’s suits were gorgeous and he loved them but there was something to be said for the comfort of slipping into your favorite sweater when you came home.

“ _I saw men go up and down_  
In the country and the town,  
With this prayer upon their neck,  
"Judgment and a judge we seek."  
Not to monarchs they repair,  
Nor to learned jurist's chair,”

Neal followed Mozzie’s voice to the balcony. Mozzie was sitting on the floor in front of the large blue and brown play mat. Mozzie moved the toys and wiggled them at Elliot as he recited each verse. Elliot giggled and swayed as he propped himself up on his hands and knees. He couldn’t crawl yet but if this was any indication, it wouldn’t be long until he did. 

“Emerson, Moz? Really?”

“Yes Really! I will not let Mrs. Suit’s legacy become an uncultured federal drone. I mean Suit tries but… Young Elliot’s got too much promise for that.” Mozzie gestured to the baby who let his arms slide from under him so that he could roll to Neal, throw his arms up and squeal in a demand to be lifted.

Neal obligingly bent and retrieved Elliot from the play mat. Once he had a good grip on the baby Neal slid his right arm under Elliot’s bottom and held the boy upright with his left. The baby cooed and reached for Neal’s face with his pudgy little fingers. When they landed on Neal’s lips he opened his mouth and pretended to eat the fingers with gusto and overblown ‘Omn-nom-nom’ sounds. Elliot shrieked and giggled, pulling his hands back from Neal’s mouth and kicking his legs excitedly.

“Huh, you like that do you?”

“All babies love having their fingers eaten,” Mozzie said as he stood up and made his way to the wine rack. “I can not tell you why though, seems creepy as hell to me.”

“Really?” Neal looked carefully at Elliot. He was getting so big and he was adorable with his ruddy pink cheeks and dimples.

“What you’ve never been around a baby before?”

“No. I never took on marks with kids younger than 13. I was an only child and I never thought I’d have a kid so... ” Neal shrugged and happily ate Elliot’s fingers when he presented them once more. Elliot giggled and smiled up at Neal who smiled back. “He’s so happy.”

“It’s seems like his general disposition. Curious, and cheerful.”

“That’s true, He’s like Elizabeth.”

“Nope. Don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Suit was happy and pleasant but he’s more like you in disposition.” Mozzie had found the rosé he was looking for and tipped the glass at Neal. “You’ll see it when he’s older and saying ‘Don’t worry, I wont!’ and doing exactly that when no one’s aren’t looking.”

“God, You know I never thought I’d see more than pictures, or birthdays. Maybe even bring your kid to work days, but actually seeing him… Holding him… I didn’t think I’d get that." Neal pulled his handkerchief from Elliot’s chubby little fingers and used it for a hybrid game of peek-a-boo and tickle-the-baby. 

Elliot squirmed and tried to wriggle out of Neal’s arms, tired of being carried. Neal bent down and lowered Elliot into the playpen, handing the baby one of the many soft toys that were in there with him. Elliot took the toy and put it in his mouth, babbling away around the electric blue fabric.

“I… I gave away my kid Mozzie? I mean, really… Who does that?” Neal accepted the half glass of rosé that Mozzie held out to him and looked into the glass with a frown before taking a sip. “I’m a shit human being. This just proves it.”

Mozzie pulled his glasses off of his face and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Neal for a moment, really looked. And Neal fidgeted a bit under Mozzie’s scrutiny. Usually Neal liked attention; more often than not he encouraged people to look at him to be drawn to him. His looks, his personality, his talents and skill were all beacons for admiration. But Mozzie, Mozzie’s eyes were something different. Mozzie was critical, and brilliant. Yes, he had his eccentricities but in all actuality Neal had never known a sharper man. Mozzie’ eyes were piercing and when they looked at you long and hard it felt like you were a fish in a trap, helpless and vulnerable as your skin was being peeled back to reveal your every dirty deed and filthy secret.

“Neal, “I’ve known shitty people. I deal with the worst of humanity nearly every day. There are people who do fucked up thing, and leave kids in the worst possible situations.” Mozzie wiped his glasses on the corner of his shirt and fit them back onto his face. With the glasses his stare was less threatening, though still unyielding, “You gave Elizabeth the happiest months of her life, and so much hope. You gave Suit —Peter— a living reminder of the woman he loved. That doesn’t seem like a shitty person to me”

“I gave away my kid.” Neal stressed as he pushed the wine flute at Mozzie, unable to drink the rest with the taste of shame on his tongue. 

“And that’s your problem.” Mozzie pointed a blunt finger at him in the way that Neal had seen him do soften when he’d been a fresh faced kid with a charming smile and not even the slightest bit of know how, “You’ve gotten your information skewed.”

“What there’s some other guy who looks just like me who jerked off in a cup in that office?” Mozzie made a face of intense disapproval and Neal felt a bit ashamed. Mozzie hated vulgarities in any form, and had been the one to one to trained Neal out of using such crude language. "Sorry."

“Neal, you gave away your sperm. The kid, he belongs to the suits, and while you left your mark. He’s not yours. You gave the Burke’s an ingredient. Elizabeth made the soufflé. Elliot was in her body, she pushed him out.”

“What if he finds out and thinks—”

“And thinks what? That you gave a couple the only things they ever wanted?” Mozzie snorted and finally looked way from Neal. His eye looked at the baby that was sprawled out on his stomach pushing around an electric blue stuffed raccoon. “Elliot will never feel anything but wanted and loved. Take it from me, as a kid who was dumped on a doorstep; that is what really matters. At the end of the day you want to belong to someone you want to be wanted, there is no question that Elliot was wanted.”

“It just feels… I don’t even know, Moz.” 

“Neal, You’ve been alone for a while. Not alone, alone, but with out family since you were a teenager. It’s normal to look for those kinds of connections, to want them.” Mozzie swirled the wine in his glass and looked beyond Neal’s shoulders at the baby then at Neal, “Family is all in the relationships you build, not the blood in your veins. If you want to be the “family friend” then build that relationship. If you want to be the kid’s other dad, then you have to talk to Suit. Ask if you could build that kind of relationship. Either way, you were always going to be more to that kind than a stranger, the Suit and Elizabeth wouldn’t have stood for any thing less.”


	6. Six Months Old

**(Elliot at six months)**

“It’s a beautiful day out. Let’s go to the park!” Neal said enthusiastically to Elliot as he changed him out of his formula and drool splattered onesie. It was a gorgeous autumn day. The trees had all gone gold and red and it was still warm despite the time of year. “What do you say, hm Elliot?”

The baby burbled and fit the corner of a teething ring into his mouth. Neal of course took that as a yes and put the baby in his playpen and moved around the apartment collecting the things he needed and packing them away into the leather back pack that he used as a diaper bag.

Neal saw Elliot nearly every day and kept him from time to time. On this particular Friday Peter, Diana and Jones were in a conference for FBI agents that Neal wanted no part in and June was at her granddaughter’s recital. Neal had smiled when June said she would bring him along and offered to take him for the day. 

And now here they were, two feedings a nap and several messes later, getting dressed and ready to go to central park, which was conveniently with in his two mile radius so long as he didn’t attempt to go to the great lawn. Neal strapped Elliot into his stroller, tickling him between fussing with the buckles.

It wasn’t a bad walk to the park, only four blocks along west 81st before he came to the entrance. Neal smiled as he entered the park, Central park was always beautiful but it was especially so in the fall. The leave turned all kind of colors reds, golds, yellows and more. The grass was a dusty green as opposed to the lush and moist green of the summer months. Neal pushed Elliot’s stroller away from the concrete path into the grass and found a nice sunny patch to set up.

The baby burbled and giggled, occupied with a leaf that had blown into the stroller. 

Neal spread out old tarp he pulled from his painting supply closet and spread it across the grass then layered an old sheet on top of it. He tossed a few of Elliot’s toys, soft ones and plastic cars with safety wheels and a jar of bubbles. Next Neal turned and plucked Elliot from his stroller. 

Neal swung the baby up high in the air, delighting his in the shriek and giggles before setting him gently on the ground. Elliot laid back and rolled until he reached the edge of the mat, the baby flipped onto his stomach and shimmied until he could stretch out his pudgy little arms and grab a handful of grass.

“Well, I guess I could have left the toys at home.” Neal muttered, as he looked on amused by Elliot’s fascination with the grass. Neal sat down on the sheet and pulled his sketchbook and charcoal out of the stroller basket. As he watched Elliot his hands moved, creating a gestural sketch. It wasn’t like the exercises that he did before doing detailed observational painting and drawings. Practicing his observational skills was always a necessity. He focused on the shape of Elliot’s face in profile, the creases of his chubby hands and the way his cheek dimpled when he grinned. Neal moved quickly, only giving himself two minutes for each gestured sketch, the baby changed positions often and quickly, making him a very difficult model. 

After twenty minutes and ten pages Neal closed the book and reached into the basket of the stroller once more, this time he pulled out a little jar of bubbles and smiled, “I know you’ll like these. There isn’t a kid on this planet that can resist bubbles.”

Elliot turned at the sound of Neal’s voice, but when he caught sight of the glistening rainbow swirled bubbles the baby’s mouth fell open and he watched entranced as the bubble lifted by a light breeze and drifted away. 

Neal grinned, and puckered his lips in front of the wand and blew a slow and steady breath. Bubbles filled the air and Elliot shrieked happily reaching up with his thick little fingers, waving his chubby arms up at the escaping spheres. When one came lo enough for him to reach the toddler tried to snatch it out of the air only to be start and it’s abrupt disappearance.

Neal chuckled warmly at the perplexed look on Elliot’s face and blew another stream of bubbles to capture the baby’s attention.

“They’re so cute at that age you know?”

Neal’s shoulders tensed when he heard the voice, but it was that long reaching shadow and the chill up his spine that convinced him. “They are… I didn’t know you liked kids Keller.”

“Ah Neal, There’s a lot you don’t know about me. That’s not surprising though. It’s been a good number of years since we worked together. What like nine or ten?”

“Not long enough I assure you.” Neal didn’t even attempt to hide the distaste he fet. Keller wasn’t someone he wanted to deal with. He didn’t want to be bothered with his ten years ago, a year ago and most certainly not now. “What is it that you want Keller?”

“I want what you owe me, my treasure.”

“I don’t have any treasure Keller. I didn’t take your stash. In fact I haven’t seen any of those pieces since I was forced into that fu…” Neal cut the curse short when he felt the weight of Elliot’ on him as the baby climbed onto him, recing up to take the bubble wand. “frustrating submarine.”

“Ah, Caffery, You’ve fallen prey to parenthood. It’s a trap if there ever was one. But I gotta admit,” Keller grinned and crouched beside Neal. He lifted the ring of plastic keys and gently shook it in Elliot’s direction, “He’s a handsome little thing. He’s your spit and image. You can see it plain as day in his face. Poor darling will be a heart breaker, just like his daddy.”

“Back off, Keller.”

The man ignored the warning, handing the baby the toy as he continued as if he had never been interrupted, “You know who loves handsome little charmers? Tourist! Out in Thailand, Puket mainly, they specialize in charming little boys. They bring in lots of money when they’re young and spry…Hell, I know a man, sick fuck that he is he brings up the prettiest boy from infancy. Then when they’re six or seven, they start working. Those boys, hell they make better money than the blue collar chumps here. They bring in at least 10K a night! Can you imagine?” Keller grinned, sharp and shark-like, “Yeah, yeah you can, I think. Well I’ve got to go, so you and the munchkin take care, alright?”

Neal had wrapped his arm more firmly around the baby and doing his best to block the little boy from view with his body. Neal’s back was tight and straight, eyes blazing with hate and violence.

Keller’s smiled, wide and charming, pat Neal on the shoulder and stood from his crouch, turning away from the blanket and strolling off into the park.

(-)

Neal didn’t run back to June’s but was a close thing. Elliot burbled softly from his stroller his eyes wide as he watched people and cars fly past. When they reached the building Neal unstrapped Elliot from his chair and toted him into the building, asking one of the attendants to bring the stroller in for him. and tucking a twenty into the man’s palm.

“Neal, what’s wrong? Youlook like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“A poltergeist is more like it… Cindy, will you watch Elliot for me? I’ve got to make few calls. It will be like twenty minutes.”

“Sure thing. Come ‘ere handsome.” Cindy swept her hair over her shoulder, tucked her hands under Elliot’s armpits and pulled him to her chest. Elliot didn’t seem to notice the change of bodies, he was too fixed n tangling his fingers in  
Cindy’s lion like curls. 

“Thank you.” 

“Let’s go have a snack!” Cindy exclaimed, bouncing the baby on her hip as she returned to her grandmother’s apartment.

Neal feeling out of sorts held onto the banister of the steps that led up to his studio. Slowly he sank down onto the steps, his vision fuzzy and his heart beating wildly in his chest. A few deep breaths and a dry swallow later he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone. Neal tried to scroll down to Peter’s name in the contact list but his hands didn’t seem to want to co-operate. They were trembling and shaking so hard it was near impossible to press a single button. 

With a frustrated grunt Neal squeezed his phone, pressing all of the side buttons down at once. 

“Say a command.” The BlackBerry’s automated voice instructed. With a shakey smiled Neal looked down at his phone. “Say a command.”

“Call Peter Burke.”

“Calling Peter Burke.” 

When Neal heard Peter’s ring back tone he picked up the phone and not trusting his hands pinned it between his shoulder and his ear.

“Hey, Neal.” 

With those two words, Neal felt himself settle down. The burning aniety in his stomach calmed and with another swallow he started, “Peter… Peter.”

“Neal? What’s wrong? Is there a problem? Is Elliot okay? Are you okay?” The sound of the milling crowd behind him ebbed away. He must have left the main area of the conference for a quieter spot. “Talk to me, Neal.”

“You have to come home. Keller’s in town.” 

“What?” Peter’s voice took on a cold edge. Those words were something he never intended to hear. “Isn’t he supposed to be in jail?”

“I took Elliot to the park today. We were sitting on the grass when Keller came over.”

“Are you both alright?”

“We’re okay. I’m just a bit shaken up. Elliot’s just fine.” Neal puffed a slow breath and closed his eyes, “He made some threats. We cant take them lightly.”

“What did he say, Neal?”

“He said… Fuck this is just fucking sick.”

“Now Neal. What the hell id he say?”

“He said that he knew a man in Phuket who buys pretty babies.”

“That son of a bitch.”

Neal tipped his head to the side, resting it on the cool marble banister. He listened to Peter swear and things clattering around were ever he was. Neal Listened to Peter’s short panic breaths as he heard things clatter and zip and shuffle over the phone. Peter was packing. “He wants payback. He thinks Elliot is my kid.”

“Neal, Pack a bag. Everything you’ll need for a week or two. I’m going to call Diana and then the Marshalls. You’ll have a protection detail and an escourt.”

“Alright.” Neal stayed on the phone a moment longer. Peter gave him a sense of calm and he was reluctant to hang up lest he loose it. 

“I’m in Connecticut so it will take me three or four hours to get home. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye Peter.”

(-)

Neal leaned against the wall of the sitting room in the Burke home. From his place he could see the whole room. There was a mess of dirty clothes that had been stacked on the armchair, blankets and pillows that covered the couch, mugs half filled with water, a hairbrush, bottles of deodorant and aftershave and Peter’s cufflink box all laid out on the coffee table. Apparently Peter Still couldn’t handle sleeping in the Master Bedroom with out Elizabeth.

Neal felt guilt coil deep within his stomach. He knew Peter was still hurting, but he didn’t realize that his friend’s grief was keeping him away from his bed. He shouldn’t have agreed to give them his sperm. If Elizabeth were still here… Neal cut off that train of thought and looked down at the boy in his arms. Elliot was Peter and Elizabeth’s miracle. He was their impossible baby and Neal, even in his own selfish musings couldn’t see him denying them the job of the little boy in his arms.

It was quiet and eerily still in that house, which gave him too much time to think. Satchmo was sprawled on his bed that had been tucked into the corner. Elliot was asleep with his head resting on Neal’s shoulder his soft breaths inaudible. There were Marshalls and FBI agents stationed outside of the house, on the block, but it didn’t make him feel any better. 

Neal pressed his nose into Elliot’s soft curls and took in the child’s scent. It was distinctly sweet and it made him focus on the here and now. 

“Neal? You here?” Peter asked, his voice carrying from the foyer into the room. 

“In the sitting room.”

“I’m back.” the older man said needlessly as he shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. Before reaching over and drawing Neal and Elliot into his arms. “Thanks for taking care of him, Neal.” Peter whispered as he gently pat his son’s head and kissed his forehead, leaving him on Neal’s shoulder for fear of waking him up.

Neal looked up from Elliot’s soft feature into Peter’s warm, yet oh so sad brown eyes. “What’s the plan, Peter?”

“They’re putting together a task force. 24/7 surveillance of the house and this block. I’m going to brief them via phone. We’re on house arrest until further notice. Groceries are to be delivered and I’ll be working from home.” Peter kicked off his shoes and walked into the kitchen beckoning for Neal to follow him. As Peter started a fresh pot of coffee he leaned against the counter and motioned to a pulled out chair. When Neal sat be began once more. “No one knows where Keller is. We have to wait for him to make his move and cut him down ruthlessly. He’s a nut job but he’s a nut job trying to get a hold of my id. If I see him I’ll shoot him on sight. That’s my plan.”

Neal nodded his head. This was something he could get behind One-hundred and ten percent.

(-)

It was a little after 4:00am.

Neal was looking at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting when he heard the beginnings grunts and whines of Elliot. Neal pushed the covers away and got to his feet. Peter had finally stopped pacing and started snoring about ten minutes ago. When Neal had left the living room-come-bedroom Peter had been sitting up with the baby monitor and his gun.

“Coming Ellie, I’m coming.” The man called, his voice rough as he padded down the hallway. When he entered the nursery Eliot was standing in his crib leaning holding on to the bar and working himself up into a good cry. Neal swept him up into his arms. 

A quick check proved that Elliot was still dry, which made sense. Peter had changed Elliot right before he put him to bed. “So what’s the problem little man? I know you aren’t hungry, we had meat loaf and potatoes and peas. Then you had ten ounces like an hour and a half ago. I know you aren’t hungry.”

Elliot leaned forward, pressing his face into the nape of Neal’s neck and whining softy. Neal swayed from side to side and bounced gently every so often, “Feeling lonely then? I can understand that.”

Neal walked to the little bookshelf and skimmed through titles before he turned away and sat in the over stuffed armchair. “Your old man has crap taste in children’s books. I didn’t see a single Dr. Seuss book. I’ll buy you a whole et of them for your birthday, they’re really fun books and the colors! They’re really gorgeous in some books and in others it’s kept simple.

I think you’d like Mrs. Spider books too. The stories aren’t anything special but the illustrations are so vibrant… I know some stories. They might not be so child appropriate but I do know some.” Neal gently moved Elliot from his resting place on his chest to the crook of his arm. The baby’s eyes were wide and alert, not even the slightest hint of sleep lurked in them.

“Right so there was a bird, a magpie. He was very smart and handsome and he was very good at playing tricks. He had black feathers and like all magpies he loved beautiful things. The magpie was flying around, taking a tour of a beautiful city when he saw a thing he just had to have. It was a beautiful thing, a war bond from the 1900’s…”


	7. Eight Months Old

**eight months old**

Elliot moaned and whines as he tried to squirm out of his high chair. 

“Let me clean you up first alright, then I’ll let you out of the chair.” Peter sighed heavily and looked down at his shirt. He would never understand how he always ended up covered in what looked like more food than Elliot ever ate. Peter looked at the spotless floor —Satchmo’s work, no doubt— and shrugged, at least he wouldn’t have to sweep before he stiffened. 

Peter stood up and walked over to the sink to dampen the washcloth he had in his hand. The little Terrycloth square had at one time been white but now it was stained with all kinds of colors that even bleach couldn’t remove. The washcloth had been repurposed and now it was kept exclusively for the scrubbing of little hands and faces after meal times. 

Peter wiped the warm cloth across his son’s face going over his chubby cheeks an extra time or two to remove some stubborn dried tomato sauce. All the while Elliot howled and screamed his displeasure before breaking out into full-bellied sobs. The only thing that boy hated more than that high chair was having his face cleaned.

Peter smiled and took one of Elliot’s hands into his own, wiping off each of those stick stubby little digits them the palms and wrists. “See, All clean let’s get you out now.”

Elliot’s sobs continued even when Peter lifted him from the high chair. The baby squirmed and turned in his arms and when he realized that he couldn’t wriggle out of his father’s embrace he threw himself back extended his arm and shouted out “SICH-MO!”

At fist Peter didnt think anything of it, babies made sounds all the time and so what if this sounded like a word. It wasn’t. Or at least he thought it wasn’t until Satchmo, the obedient and dedicated animal he was got up from his bed and immediately trotted over. The dog tilted his head up and lifted his front legs off the floor so that he was nose to forehead with the upside-down baby.

“Sich-mo! Wan Sich-mo!”

“You’ve got to be shitting me, Not Daddy, not June, not Neal…. Satchmo?”

“Sich-mooooo!” Elliot whined and tried to grab at the dog who teetered, clumsily, on his back paws. 

With a grumble Peter crouched down and Settled Elliot on the floor. 

Satchmo, great big traitor that he was, slid right up to the child’s side and herded the crawling baby towards his cushions in thee corner of the living room. 

“My dog stole my baby. Just wonderful.” Peter griped as he went to go find his camera.

(-)


	8. 12 Months Old

**12 months old**

“Come one Peter. It’s going to be his first birthday. We have to clear at least some of it out. So that if it rains we can come back here.” Neal urged as Peter fingered the blankets on the sofa. “Your bedroom is upstairs, and I know that you don’t want to sleep there the way it is now but we can change it. We can paint the walls, get different furniture…”

“That room…” Peter trailed off, unsure of what he wanted to say.

“That is the bedroom you and Elizabeth shared, I understand that. But Peter, you cant do this. What are you going to say when Elliot gets old enough to want to crawl in bed with you because he’s scared? You can camp out in the arm chair?”

“Alright, Neal. Alright.”

(-)

Peter hated his best friend at the moment. This was the single most painful thing besides losing El. He was sorting through her things, he clothes and jewelry and knick knacks. There were four piles; charity, save-for-Elliot, sell and trash.

Most of the clothing and books made it to the charity pile, the more valuable knick knacks that didn’t hold any real emotional ties went to the sell pile, things El loved or kept from her childhood or their anniversaries went to the save-for-Elliot pile and everything else went out in huge black bags.

Peter was almost done in the closet his chest was sore, his eyes burned with exhaustion and his head felt muzzy. It was all due to emotional upheaval, he knew, but that didn’t make it any less challenging. Neal was behind him, covering the moldings wit painter’s tape and laying down the protective tarps. Leaving Peter alone for the most part to process, but there if Peter needed him. 

Peter took a deep breath and pushed onward clearing out the top of Elizabeth’s closet. There wasn’t much more up here. Sunday hats in hat boxes, those he would give to Diana who had a head for hats and wore them when she went to Sunday service with Christie. He put those aside and reached back for the final box. Peter pulled the photo box out into the light of the bedroom and gagged.

This box. This box had had driven El to tears every time she opened it. It was filled with blood test results, sonogram prints and other things that related to the many failed pregnancies that they had been through together. Peter stumbled backward, falling on to the bed where he sat and looked at the box and felt his eyes burn and his throat spasm.

He didn’t realize he was crying until seal crouched down in front of him and offered him a hand full of Kleanex. 

“Neal… she’s gone Neal. Her and all the babies.”

“Not all of them.” The younger man offered, his eyes a painful shade of blue. “She left you one to take care of. She left you Elliot to hold on to.”

Peter didn’t remember anything else from that night. He woke up with scratchy eyes and a sore back sprawled halfway across the mattress of the master bedroom. And for all his body ached he woke up feeling just a little lighter

(-)

It was a gorgeous April day. For once spring had been kind in New York City and the ground was free of the slush and muck of the half melted snow. Peter smiled out the window at the beautiful day. El would have gone crazy in preperation for today. It was April 25th, Elliot’s first birthday.

Peter pushed back the sheets and padded to the bathroom. Today was a day of joy and sorrow but he resolved to be nothing but joyful. Peter was a firm believer of star out as you intend to go along and even thought it was the anniversary of Elizabeth’s death it was Elliot’s birthday and he deserved to have a happy one.

Peter went through the motions of his morning routine. He bathed, brushed, flossed, shaved and dressed in a pale green shirt and loose jeans. Perfect to the park. When the monitor in the bedroom began to make noise peter strode into the nursery, a wide smile on his face. Elliot had pulled himself up on the edge of the crib and was bouncing in place cheerily chattering at the sight of his father.

“Good morning, Mister! Happy Birthday!” Peter pressed his lips to Elliot’s forehead before lifting the baby from the crib and prepping him for his morning change.

(-)

It wasn’t a huge party but rather a small gathering. A few kids scrambled back and forth around the play ground, Elliot scooting after bubbles and using Satchmo as his own personal walker to teeter over and charm all of his guests. Who obligingly coed at his and picked him up giving him kisses, compliments, tickles and pieces of their sweet appetizers.

“Peter, I’ll take Elliot to the sand box. So he can meet the other little ones.” Diana swept Elliot up and made her way over to the sand box. She sat in the dirt besides the kids, not caring if her work suit got dirty. The bureau took care of dry cleaning costs anyway. “Look baby, you can make a sand castle.”

(-)

Neal had been standing awkwardly between Amanda Calloway and Reece Hughs. Though he was a social engineer of sorts Not even Neal could charm this meeting into anything more than it was, a barely civil, silent pissing match off epic proportions.

Neal sipped his punch and looked around. The picnic tables had been set up with balloons of every color. There were children with bubble guns and a large two tiered cake from his bakery on the far table with the gifts. Yvonne had done a lovely job with this quick affair.

Peter was roped in a conversation with one of Ruiz’s little daughters who apparently thought Peter was the best thing since sliced bread, much to Ruiz’s ire. Neal’s eye roamed the crowd, that’s when he saw something that didn’t fit in.

A large man in black sweats and a long sleeved black t-shirt was running. Not on the paths or the tracks but right through the grass where the kids were playing. There was no one chasing him and the ball cap on his head hid any distinguishing features. Something wasn’t right.

“PETER!” Neal shouted just as the man ran up behind Diana and punched the side of her head so hard she slumped over, scooped up a startled and crying Elliot and ran.

Neal dropped his drink to race to Diana while peter took off like a bird gun hound his long legs catching up and Satchmo tearing out behind him. Neal dropped into a crouch over Diana, and pulled her gun from her holster. His feel slid apart into a steady stance and he brought the gun up evenly. With one deep breath and two sharp shots the guy was tumbling down.

Peter snatched Elliot from mid air and Satchmo ked and snapped at the man while he was on the floor holding his knee. Neal sighed, snapped the safety of the gun back on and tucked it in to the back of his pants. 

He crouched down and checked to make sure Diana was still breathing and let out a breath of relief when she was. A brief check told him she was fine just knocked onn the temple hard enough to knock her unconscious. Neal waved Christie and agent Darls over and when they got there he walked away.

(-)

Clinton Jones had an odd memory. He couldn’t recall times, places or directions but he remembered things about people. They were little things like their favorite color or what food the hated, silly things they said —things like that. Right now the thing nagging at his memory was something Cafffery said a long time ago; “I don’t do guns. I don’t like them.”

With all of the commotion around it was odd that that as the only thing he could think of. And so Clinton sought out Neal Caffery. He found him seated on a bench not far away from the circus of law enforcement the birthday party had become. 

Jones settled himself on the bench besides Neal and leaned forward, elbows on his knees large hands clasped. “I thought you didn’t do guns?”

Neal’s mouth turned into a grimace, as if someone suggested that he eat slugs with his morning coffee. “I don’t like them. There are better ways than violence to settle problems.”

“So is that what we’re going with?”

Neal turned to face him, blue eyes blazing a snarl plain on his face as, “I’m not letting anyone run off with Peter’s kid. I’m not.”


	9. 13 Months Old

**13 Months Old**

“OZZER! OZZER!” Elliot’s delighted squeal made Neal smile. Elliot adored Mozzie and was always delighted when ever Mozzie came by. 

“Hello, Mrs. Suit Junior.” Mozzies grinned at the baby bouncing on his chubby legs as he held onto the sofa. “I see you’ve decided to become of the bipedial. Congratulations.” Mozzie sat himself on the floor and smiled when Elliot threw himself into his lap. Mozzie had always loved children. He saw their infinite potential, loved their creativity and cherished their growing minds. “Look what I brought you, kid.”

Peter rolled his eyes and Neal chuckled. Mozzie and Peter would never be great friends. They, believe it or not, were too much alike; the main difference being Mozzie’s obsessive traits dedication to side stepping the law.

Mozie pulled from his coat pocket a pair of green and blue fuzzy dice. “See! Dice. These are for counting, not craps. Got me?” Elliot babbled back at Mozzie, as he wrapped a stubbly little hand around one of the large fuzzy dice and waved it in the air. “Let’s count the dots on it.”

“Why don’t you two go out for a little bit. Suit Junior and I will be just fine together.”

“Thanks Moz,” Neal said with a smile. “Sarah’s in town I figured we’d do lunch.”

Peter stood to the side stiffly, not wanting to leave. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to go.

“Go on suit. Take a break, go have a drink. Caretaker burn out is a real thing. Just a few hours.”

“Don’t use my baby in any cons.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“You used my dog.”

“Well the dog wanted to go on an adventure.”

“Go out. Have a good time. Sheesh, who turns their nose up at a free sitter?”

Peter paused for a moment and nodded. No one turned his or her nose up at a free sitter. Peter snagged his keys, his wallet and cell phone tucking them into his jacket pocket before he crouched down to kiss Elliot’s forehead. “He ate at 11:30 and I changed him fifteen minutes go. He’ll need nap in an hour or two.”

“Got it.” Mozzie grunted and went back to pointing at the dots on the big die and counting clearly and slowly, Elliot’s high-pitched voice imitating the sounds as best as the child could.

(-)

Peter sits at a booth in a quiet lounge and smiles at the waitress when she pushes a beer in his direction. 

“Peter, I’m glad to see you out and about. How’s the baby?” Harvey inquired over the rim of his scotch. “I haven’t seen him since the party fiasco.”

“He’s doing well.” Peter pulled his cell phone from his pocket tapped the screen to bring up a slide show and pushed it across the table to Harvey. “Cheerful as he’s ever been.”

“And you?” Harvey asked, eyes on the screen as pictures of Elliot flickered by.

“I’m getting there.”

(-)

Neal walked into the gallery and looked around with vague interest. Photography wasn’t his thing. It was a legitimate art form no doubt, but it never sat well with him. It felt like cheating, not creating the image with your own hands. He glanced around the room when he saw her standing there in a green dress and pearl studs.

“Sarah,” 

“Oh, Neal!” She said something to the assistant and the came over her heels clacking loudly in the mostly empty space of the gallery. “I didn’t expect to see you. This isn’t with in your radius. Where is Peter?” She tilted her cheek up to him, silent request for a brief kiss hello. 

Neal leaned down and bussed her cheek, “Some things happened and I’m staying with Peter for a while. So DUMBO isn’t off limits anymore.”

“Really! Well let’s do lunch? I’m in a hotel a few blocks over we can call up room service and have them bring some food then maybe… dessert?”

Neal nodded and slipped his arm around Sarah’s waist as they walked out. This hadn’t been what he had planned but e wouldn’t pass it up. Sarah wasn’t looking for anything serious and neither was he. A few hours of comfort and fun between friends would work out just fine.

(-)

Peter glanced at his watch, it was nearly five. He rolled his shoulders trying to shake the tension and walked down the street keeping an eye out for the Tai restaurant he knew Neal liked. They’d get take out because buzzed and half drunk he wasn’t in the mood to cook dinner. 

Peter walked into the dimly lit restaurant and walked to the counter and was surprised to see Neal standing there while the lady behind the counter was packing up what looked to be Neal’s order.

“Great minds think alike.” 

Neal turned and smirked, “mine is greater— I thought of it first. I got you the greens curry and an order of glass noodles with chicken for Elliot. I figured keep it simple for him.”

“Sounds good. How was your day?”

“It was alright. I hit some of the galleries in DUMBO, nothing special this time.” Neal shrugged, “Though I managed to run into Sarah. Sterling Bosh insured a photography exhibit.”

“Any good?” 

“Not a fan of photos so I can’t really judge.”

“Hmm.” Peter nodded and leaned against the counter, tapping his fingers on the wood. 

The woman finished packing the bag and then her eyes widened and she dug through the bag.

“That was fine. That was everything I ordered.” Neal told her, only making her flush more as she snatched something out of the bag. 

“Oh no, sir! I just—“ She stammered as Neal reached over the counter and gently uncurled her hand to see what she had been so frazzled about. It was just a crumpled napkin but on it was clearly some ink. 

Peter chuckled and Neal just looked confused. “Oh, Neal. You flirt with out meaning to half the time. That’s her number.”

“Oh? Oh!” Neal’s face flickered from confusion to his default charm.

“I had no idea you were married.” The poor woman babbled as she twisted the napkin his her hands around.

“Married?” Neal parroted letting the word sink in, “I’m not married. I am happily a bachelor.”

“Oh but…” She flapped her fingers towards Peter’s hands, “I am so sorry.”

(-)

“I didn’t realize that people thought we were a couple…” 

“I think I might be the ring… Sorry.” Peter said an he poked at his curry, waiting for it to cool down enough so that he could eat with out scalding his tongue.

“Don’t be sorry.” Neal leaned back in his chair and turned to watch Elliot fist some noodles and cram them into his mouth. When he saw Neal watching, he smiled big and wide making it easy to see Elizabeth in him. “You know, I don’t think I ever realized you were wearing a ring after the first time I saw Elizabeth. It just seem like it was obvious that you two were happily married.”

“Very happily. I don’t think there is or ever could be another woman for me. There isn’t a single woman could top Elizabeth.”

Neal’s eyebrows lifted high. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect such a declaration; it was that it was just a loaded statement for Peter to make. One day, when he was ready, Peter should try again. Peter was a handsome man, well established, in good shape and relatively young, in his early 40’s. He shouldn’t have to face the thought of old age alone.


	10. 16 Months Old

**16 Months Old**

Peter looks over at his son, who is playing happily with his blocks and light up alphabet singing farm house. He talks to the little farm animals and shoves blocks where they don’t really belong, babbling the whole time. Elliot is speaking more now, he knows simple phrases; please, thank you, can have, want, don’t want, where is. 

Elliot is learning how to walk, using a tired but biddable Stachmo as his crutch. Elliot’s fat little fingers tangle them selves in Satchmo’s thick yellow fur, and he tries to pull himself onto his feet. Satchmo helps nosing at the boy’s legs and bottom, pushing him up until getting off the floor is doable. Elliot’s staggering steps are unsteady and Satchmo moves very slowly, letting the boy set the pace.

When Satch isn’t around then Elliot scoots on his butt, dragging himself hither and yon— he is Neal’s child in the fact that he will not stand the indignity of crawling like the other, pedestrian, children.

Peter grins big and wide as his son comes over to him, scooting across the floor in a seated position. Satch, tired and done for the day, had disappeared upstairs a while ago for some uninterrupted sleep. “Hey Elliot.”

“Putrr!” The boy chirps happily and throws his hands high in a demand to be lifted. Peter is just about to reach down when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and smells the clean aftershave that only Neal uses. 

“You should have him call you Daddy, or Papa or something other than your name, Peter.” Neal says casually, as he props himself up on the sofa’s arm.

“I’ve got no idea how to make that happen.”

“We’ve got to start referring to you as Daddy when we talk. Thank way he learns to associate the word Daddy with you.” Neal smiled as Elliot gave an indignant whine at being ignored.

Peter’s tucked his hands under his son’s arms and lifted him up. Elliot stood on his lap, and brandished a toy cow at him, “LOOK!”

“I see! What a cool cow you’ve got there! Do you know what sound it makes?”

Elliot grinned and threw his body back, Peter holding his tight around his middle as he moo-ed for all he was worth. Links lips poked out like he was howling. “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“I’ll give that an 8 out of ten, more wolfish than cow.” Neal said with a laugh, his camera phone in his hand— probably recording like always.

“Nee! Nee LOOK!”

“Wow! I see!” Neal put all the enthusiasm he could into those three words, a smile on his face as Eliot reached up for him.

“We’ve got to find you a name too.”

“I’m fine with being called Neal. It’s my name after all. I’ll settle for Uncle Neal.”

“I wont though.” Peter hoists the giggling boy up into the air and Neal takes him. Peter watches with an easy grin as Near starts layering the boys cheeks with big sloppy kisses and tilting him backward making him squeal. 

“Peter, Uncle is fine. I mean it’s not he’s my kid.”

“So all those nights you get up to feed and change him don’t count? Neither do the getting dressed in the morning, bathing, spoiling and scolding? Neal, I don’t know if you realize it but you’ve been parenting this kid with me.” Peter put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up with a grunt, going into the kitchen to get a beer. “Neal, I know that you gave him to El and I but there wasn’t ever a time that we thought you wouldn’t be involved. He is every bit your son as he is ours… Mine.”

Neal let Elliot squirm down his body, to get back to the floor. He turned to Peter and was confronted with an out stretched hand offering a beer and a stern look. 

“I know you love Elliot. Don’t bother, I can tell.” A wicked smirk plays across Peter’s lips, “Elliot loves you too, God knows why.”

Neal laughs and bats his eyelashes with his flirtiest smile, “Admit it Peter, you love me too.”

“Yeah, I do.” Peter’s face sobers for a moment and his eyes become softer, more sincere. He reaches over and puts a hand on Neal’s shoulder and says, ”Seriously, I do Neal.”


End file.
